


Firstborn

by Green



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Canonical Character Death, Caretaker Stiles, Creature Claudia, Creature Stiles, Creepy Stiles, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Non-con Cannibalism, Peter's post-fire injuries detailed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 02:44:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7203098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He couldn't save his mom, but he can save Peter Hale.</em>
</p>
<p>Ten year old Stiles isn't entirely human. And he eats people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firstborn

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been floating in my head since I read [To Court A Monster: Hannibal Edition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122439) by [Rhiw](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiw/pseuds/Rhiw), though I only borrowed lightly from the overall premise. Rhiw's Roux-verse is extensive and fascinating, but not what you'll find here if you're looking for that, specifically. The main inspiration that 'verse gave me was "Non-humans who blend into human society and eat human meat to survive". I wanted to play with that idea but without Omegaverse tropes or high society courtship. 
> 
> I would not have written this without Maledictum cheering me on. And thank you to my constant friend and support, Majoline.

Stiles is hungry, but his mother is hungrier. She is always hungry now, and Stiles makes do with scraps for himself. He's half human, after all, and doesn't need as much as his mom.

What he's able to hunt and bring to her isn't enough, though. He wishes he could tell dad, so he could help, but it's the most important rule, not to tell. Not to tell _anyone_. 

Stiles is strong, because he is half Firstborn, but his other half is human and even with the extra speed and strength he gets from his mother, he’s still only ten years old. He has to go to school, he has to be home when his dad remembers to look in on him, he can’t get caught anywhere strange or too far away. So he hasn’t been hunting enough.

( _Those are just excuses_ , he can hear her hiss. _You have to try **harder**_.)

He knows if he was older, he'd be able to go further, to _drive_ out of town. He'd be able to kill more than one at a time. He'd be able to keep his mother from starving.

But she is starving. Her body rejects most of the nutrients the doctors give her, because human food is for humans, not pure Firstborns. Stiles can eat human food, because he's a hybrid, but his mother is special. And he's trying, but she's weakening right before his eyes.

She's been ill since he can remember. The doctors give it a human disease name, and maybe it's true. She has the symptoms of the human disease. 

She told him, once, that the only reason she had him was because of her disease. That a Firstborn would never mate with a _human_ unless they were sick, sick in their brains like she is. A healthy Firstborn would never give birth to a weak, half-blooded child, one who can’t even hunt properly.

But he’s been _trying_. He’s just beginning to think it will never be enough to save her.

* * *

There are people in the woods tonight. More than usual. Sometimes, Stiles gets lucky and finds a lone human or even a couple (usually fucking against a tree or in a tent), and he can catch them off guard or lure one away to kill. But something is weird tonight. 

It hasn't been dark very long, but Stiles needs to hurry up and get his hunt finished. He needs to make a kill and butcher it and clean up and get _gone_ , and he has very little time to spare. His mother is counting on him, is starving now, and if he doesn't get meat to her tonight she might get desperate and attack the hospital staff. She won't forgive him if they drug and restrain her again. Normally, the drugs would burn right up in her system. Normally, she'd be too strong to tie down. But she's weak with starvation and the illness, both. Vulnerable to the humans. She hates the situation and more and more often blames Stiles for her suffering.

But there are too many in the woods tonight.

Maybe they will separate, or maybe a few will go back to their vehicle soon. Maybe they will drink and relax their guard.

He decides to follow and watch them. At least he's been taught this much. His mother made sure he knew how to stalk and hunt. She never thought she was preparing him to provide for her own needs, though. Maybe she would have been more thorough if that was the case.

There are three men and a woman. All dressed in dark clothes and moving silently, despite the bags they carry, like a real hunter should, Stiles thinks. Not like the other human hunters he's seen, who are loud and wear bright orange accessories. These move like killers. Almost like Firstborn.

They smell wrong for hunters, too. Beyond the usual gun oil and powder burn scents that should be there are other things like poison and ash and chemicals he doesn't know. The guns they carry aren't unusual, but Stiles eyes their bags with confusion. They are too large and unwieldy for hunting gear, not the right shape for tents or bedrolls, either. 

After some time tailing them, he realizes where they're going. 

Maybe they are going to the Hale house to meet up with the family that lives there, or maybe they are going to rob the place. Stiles doesn't know. But as much as he wants to watch and find out, he can't. His curiosity isn't as important as his mother's next meal, and if four people are too many, then four plus however many people are home at the Hales' is definitely too many. He can't hunt any of them, not without getting hurt and caught and maybe even killed.

He sighs and retreats back out of the Preserve into another direction. There's a rest stop three miles away on a side road he hasn't visited in awhile, and there's almost always a couple of sketchy men hanging out on the edges of the lot.

* * *

It's dawn when he's finished, and he slips into his mother's room with meat — raw, because he didn't have time to cook it, not when every hour ticked past like a burden on his heart, reminding him his mother is starving and needs this and he's not going to get it to her in time.

She… is quiet when he comes in. Drugged. Restrained. Her eyes are glassy and his breath freezes in his chest. He waits for her scolding, but it doesn't come. 

He makes sure they are alone before taking the plastic bag from inside his heavy jacket. He fishes out a good piece of organ meat, his own stomach clenching with hunger at the sight and smell of it, and pushes it at his mother's slack lips.

"Mom, c'mon," he whispers. "It's fresh. I'm sorry I'm late, I'm sorry, please eat?"

She turns her head slightly, smearing blood from the corner of her mouth to her cheek. She looks at him and smiles faintly. "My precious little monster boy," she rasps, and weakly licks her lips.

"Can you eat?" Stiles asks, trying to hide his alarm.

She doesn't answer, just keeps watching him. He frowns and tries to shove the bite-sized piece of raw liver past her teeth. She won't open her mouth.

He whines, frustrated and _scared_. "Mom, please. _Please_. Mommy. Please eat."

She turns away. "You eat. And go home."

"Can I…" He gestures at her restraints. "Can I at least get them off of you?"

"They'd know," she says. "Go home. Take care of your dad."

"Don't do this," Stiles begs, but she cuts him off before he can ask her to try to eat again.

"Do as I say," she says, her voice still very weak but her tone cold. "I don't want you here anymore. Don't want you."

He… he knows she's trying to hurt him so he will leave. But it doesn't make it hurt less, and it doesn't make him forget that she's starving and…

She's going to die. If he leaves…

But she wants him to leave. If he stays she'll get crueler, might get loud, and then a nurse will come to check and maybe they will see the meat in the bag and maybe they will know and maybe…

"Go away. Get. Out."

Stiles stuffs the meat in his own mouth, ignores the tears blurring his vision, and hides the bag in his jacket. He doesn't look at her as he leaves.

* * *

Between the Hale fire investigation and the aftermath of his mother's death, Stiles is left alone a lot in the next weeks. He has all but stopped hunting, even though he needs to eat human meat to survive. But his need is not as great as his mother's had been, and his small hunger reminds him of how much he failed her.

She starved to death. Yes, the illness contributed, but the lack of meat hastened her death. Stiles's incompetence killed her much more quickly than anything else she had going wrong in her body.

All he can do is go through her things, hoping to see something in what she left behind that reminds him of who she'd been before the illness took over completely.

There is very little. Some pictures of people he doesn't recognize, faded names written on the backs. An address book with legible names, though they are still unknown to him. Everything is mysterious, and he is only left with more questions and very little comfort.

There are no clues on how to find others of his kind. Or even any pure Firstborn, either. The names written in his mom's things might be Firstborn, but he does know his kind, hybrids, aren't exactly accepted by other Firstborn. His mother told him that a few times. That he's...

_You're an abomination, baby._

He's never felt so alone.

* * *

Stiles only comes out of his haze of grief when he overhears Melissa McCall and his father talking about the fire, and about Peter Hale, the only survivor. He hears how it's a 'miracle' Peter is still alive, and how the doctors are mystified. At first Stiles thinks it's probably hyperbole, that someone is overstating the facts. It doesn't stop him from feeling the smallest spark of hope, though. So he looks into it.

Peter Hale's initial injuries were well-documented, and even though medical privacy laws are strict, they are almost too easy to break. Stiles hasn't heard of anything beyond third degree burns and has to look this stuff up. 

Apparently, fourth degree burns are a thing that do exist. (As are fifth and sixth degree, but those are diagnoses given to corpses during autopsy.) But fourth degree burns means the skin is gone, every layer of it, nerves and all, and then the burn extends to the tendons, ligaments, muscle, and even sometimes bone. Sometimes it means amputation, but… but Peter Hale's burns covered his entire body. All of it.

At least, at first.

The records don't outright say it, but Stiles isn't just a dumb kid. He can read between the lines. The doctors, nurses, burn ward staff — they'd all been waiting for Peter to die. Stiles does more research, to see what _should_ have happened, what the hospital staff thought would happen. Infection, sepsis, is the obvious, but there are other things, too. Losing huge swathes of the circulatory system's structure can lead to the body basically suffocating from lack of oxygen. Not to mention just basic dehydration as the body loses its ability move blood and water around. Some patients survive long enough to undergo skin graft procedures, but it hadn't been expected in Peter Hale's case.

Except. _Except_...

He didn't die. He began to improve. His skin… returned. Skin that had been entirely burned away to expose damaged muscle and bone actually _grew back_. The doctors don't understand. There are some notes that he was misdiagnosed, that the initial findings were somehow mixed up or _something_.

Stiles doesn't see the word 'miracle' typed or written anywhere in the thick chart other files he reads, but it's there in between the lines as clear as the numbers and stats of Peter Hale's blood pressure and oxygen saturation.

He doesn't know of any explanation other than Peter is like Stiles. He'd have to be a hybrid, too, and not a pure Firstborn, because he's been in the hospital for weeks, almost a month now, and he's still alive; he hasn't died of starvation. The Hale family is gone, either dead in the fire (so many burnt corpses, quietly buried after private services) or (he's checked, there are two other living Hales) moved away just as quietly. 

So Peter has no one left to hunt for him.

And Stiles realizes it's going to be up to him, and he needs to start as soon as possible. He… he can't allow it to happen again. He couldn't save his mom, but he can save Peter Hale.

* * *

It's the first hunt after way too long, and Stiles is sloppier than he should be in his rush. He realizes (after his knife and fingers tear frantically into the most vulnerable part of the woman's belly, hands plunging deep to his wrists before his face pushes right into the cavity he's made) just how far into hunger he's let himself go. He can only control himself until after he's swallowed again and again, blood and viscera sliding down his throat like nothing else on earth, filling up the hole that's been widening steadily for weeks that, in his grief, he's ignored and neglected.

But he does control himself, but not before he's almost finished off both the kidneys. He's… appalled. A little ashamed. He hasn't lost control of himself like this in years, and can only console himself with the fact that the liver is still intact. That's for Peter Hale. The heart, too, once he gets the body back to the cabin and cracks open the rib cage.

It's weird, almost, that he bypassed the liver. Even in his ravenous hunger, he ignored the nutritious organ and managed to keep it intact. So while he can barely remember what happened once he caught the first scent of blood, he was somewhat in control, at least enough to preserve the best organs for a catatonic hybrid. The thought makes him shudder, excited to be responsible for the stranger, and yet guilty that he's feeling even the slightest bit of pleasure over it, after he let his mother die. 

He listens, blocks out his own excited breath and heartbeat, until he's sure there's no one around to see. Then he stuffs up the abdomen with his prey's light hoodie so he doesn't lose anything in transport, and carefully picks the body up in a way that will lead to the least amount of spillage. Then he carries her to his destination — his mom's cabin. 

He hasn't been out there since before the funeral. His mother built the cabin (and its various convenient amenities) on her own, back when she first moved to the area. His father knows she has a cabin, that she learned to hunt and trap from her father, but he's never even been out to it. She told him her hobbies, how she did it all to carry on a tradition taught by her father, and when Stiles was old enough (in her eyes, though his dad did have misgivings she quickly put at ease), he joined his mom in learning those traditions. So the whole carefully crafted Stilinski narrative goes.

Stiles has a lot of bittersweet memories of the place, and it's painful to even see it again as it comes into view. He trudges closer though, his burden almost light in his arms. He pushes on and through. It's his only option, the choice taken from his hands when he learned about Peter Hale.

* * *

Later, Stiles is scrubbed clean, wearing spotless clothes, a student's backpack slung over one shoulder. He knows Peter Hale should be in a clean room to help prevent infection, but apparently his special circumstances (like the unbelievably rapid healing) means he's only in a secluded room right off the ICU. Not even in the actual intensive care ward, though close enough. 

No one even seems to be watching him. He knows nurses have schedules, though, so he finds a chair hidden on the far side of a vending machine, and waits.

(He hates the waiting because he know Peter has to be even more hungry than Stiles was earlier, since the man probably needs even more nourishment to help him heal. Stiles hopes Peter doesn't attack when Stiles finally gets in there and pops the lid off the Tupperware.)

An hour later, a nurse has gone in, changed out the various bags of fluids, made notes, and left. 

Stiles slips into Peter Hale's room, practically vibrating with excitement. Hope.

He doesn't whisper, but he does keep his voice low and as calm as he can as he introduces himself. Peter's injuries aren't pretty, but Stiles can recognize healing, especially after he did all that research on burn victims. He forced himself to look at the pictures so he'd be prepared. Now that he's face to face with the reality, he finds himself oddly fine with Peter's appearance. 

He smells different. Not how Stiles expected. Not like himself, or like his mom. Underneath the clinging scents of ash and cooked meat (though not, not quite the same as human, it's not something that makes his mouth water, but neither does his stomach turn), and the acrid stench of hospital he hates so much, there's something else. Something _other_. He guesses it's because Peter is another hybrid, and that Stiles hasn't been around others of his kind so he doesn't recognize it, but that must be what it is.

"You've got to be starving," Stiles murmurs, and watches Peter's slack face and staring eyes carefully for a reaction when he brings out the container that holds the meat and organs. He opens it, still watching Peter's face, and doesn't know if he's disappointed or relieved when there's no change. "I already cut it all up in bite sized pieces. I… I don't know if you can chew, but we'll just have to find out, right?"

He reaches in and picks up one perfect small cube of fresh liver, and moves closer. He licks his own lips in sympathy when he touches the slick piece to Peter's bottom lip. 

There is no reaction.

Stiles moves closer so his arm isn't quite so uncomfortable just holding it there. "You have to eat, Peter. Mr. Hale." He takes a deep breath, not liking the emotional shudder it has. "I can call you Peter, right? Look… just eat. Please."

He realizes the man's family is gone, almost all of them. And that he might not want to live. He may want to starve for real, just… let it all stop.

"I can't let you die," Stiles whispers, pushing the bite of liver further into Peter's mouth. "I won't. I'll hunt for you as much as you need. You'll heal. You'll get better, okay?"

He doesn't even realize he's crying until his face is pressed against the pillow beside Peter Hale's head, his fingers and the meat still pressing at the man's mouth. 

"I need you to live," Stiles says shakily. His breath is probably way too close to the man's burned skin. It can't be good for him, except that he's like Stiles. He's not going to get an infection because he's a hybrid Firstborn, but, "You need to _eat_." 

He's begging, he knows. He doesn't care. He didn't do enough, didn't beg his mother enough, and she died. It isn't going to happen again. 

And then Peter's lips move. They close around the bite of liver Stiles has been offering, and Stiles breathes out a sound of relief that's practically a sob. 

And for the next twenty minutes, Stiles hand feeds Peter Hale, bite after bite, telling him what piece is what. "This is part of the heart. It's good for you. I… okay, I ate a little bit of it myself, but sharing is caring, yeah? Oh, this part is from the calf. She was a jogger so there was a lot there. I know the flavor isn't as good without the extra fat, but I couldn't really be choosy, you know? I knew I had to get you some food as soon as I could, so I had to go after the low hanging fruit. I have to be careful after this, though. Too many people go missing locally and we run into trouble."

Stiles babbles, his smile growing wider with every bite Peter eats. Yeah, he's catatonic, but he can do things like this. Muscle memory. It's not a coma, he's not asleep. Just… locked up in his head. Stiles doesn't blame him.

He wipes Peter's mouth carefully, makes sure to get every drop. He has a weird urge to lick the man's chin to make sure, which makes him blush as soon as he thinks it, and he laughs awkwardly even though Peter would have no way of knowing what's in his head. Still. Weird.

"I looked up all this stuff, you know? You're already healing really fast, and probably now that I'm hunting for you it'll go even faster, but… that'll hurt. Growing the nerves back, I mean. It's going to suck. And I know we metabolize pain meds way too fast, at least when we're at full strength. Which… I don't know how far they'll go for you, but I'm guessing not far enough." Stiles bites at his lip, nervous and worried. "I'll try to think of something. Just... you aren't alone, okay? You've got me. I promise. I won't give up on you. I won't leave you." 

He hesitates for a moment, but then gives into the urge and lays his head back beside Peter's. Takes a deep breath so he can catch the scent of Peter underneath all the other awful things he wishes weren't there. Maybe it's his imagination, but he thinks Peter smells a little better now that he's eaten. Like he's stronger. Less _wrong_.

And he doesn't think he imagines Peter's head rolling a little closer, as if he, too, is trying to catch a scent. Stiles's mother used to do that sometimes, too. Maybe it's a Firstborn thing. He never thought about it before, but since they have such enhanced senses, maybe… maybe it's a thing. He'll have to think about it. Maybe do some research… if not about his own kind, maybe some other species that puts a priority on scent. 

"I have to go," he whispers, not wanting to move. Peter's head rolls a little more, his face close and toward Stiles's. Peter's eyes go on staring at nothing, but Stiles _knows_ he's in there. Somewhere. "But I'll be back. I promise. I'll hunt for you again soon. And again and again. I won't forget you. If I have to feed you every bite until you're better, I will."

Maybe Stiles is coming on a little too strong. He doesn't think Peter's going to complain anytime soon, though.

* * *

(At a later date, Peter will think on this time and decide it was without a doubt to everyone's benefit that his more primal, wolfish side came to the surface long before his rational thinking, "human" mind. Because by the time he has the realization that he's eating people meat hunted, killed, and fed to him by a child cannibal, his wolf is already loyal to and — not to put too fine a point on it, but — utterly smitten with Stiles.)

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd. if you catch a stray typo, please let me know.  
> kudos and comments much appreciated.  
> I'm yogi-bogey-box on tumblr.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [devoted to destruction (slave to your games)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7869256) by [WindyRein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindyRein/pseuds/WindyRein)




End file.
